


Details

by curiumKingyo



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Glass Kink, M/M, Rimming, Suit Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiumKingyo/pseuds/curiumKingyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames’ presence caused Arthur to change, now the pointman realizes that the details can be bigger than the whole piece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Details

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [dream_exchange](http://dream-exchange.livejournal.com/) back in 2010.  
> Can be found in my [livejournal](http://goldenfish-jz.livejournal.com/5741.html/).

 

“God is in the details”. I've always believed in that, but have never given it much thought. It was correct and I'm too pragmatic to spend time musing over things that I have already set as truth. But it was before Eames, before he changed my view of this previous axiom just like he made me review many things in my life. And the most unnerving fact about this is that everything he changed in me was unintended – even innocently if that word could ever be related to him.

Obviously, the first thing he changed was the way I related to my own sexuality. I've never been a lady's man, but I've never been gay either; but that was before meeting him. After the first shock caused by his unnervingly ridiculous orange shirt, the only thing I was able to think was “this man is sex on legs”; and believe me, I'm not used to use such stupid metaphors. But in the end, that is what Eames is, a stupid metaphor. He messes people around throwing double meanings around like they are confetti, and I doubt a sane person can remain sane after watching him eating a popsicle. Seriously, I had to turn my head around while he was doing so; it seemed the only way to keep me reasonably right minded.

About the details, I started thinking about it when he showed up wearing glasses. Thin framed glasses, with a tiny arabesque on each side of his face. Compared to the beauty of the whole of him, said glasses were almost unnoticeable, but for me they made quite a difference. They made him look mysterious, reflecting the light and hiding his eyes from me; framing his features with an unique softness. Ariadne said he should have chosen thick framed glasses, but he only smirked and said he didn't want it to call too much attention. He did it wrong. Probably thick framed glasses wouldn't have called my attention this much. I suppose I began staring too intently at him from that day on.

He did nothing in reply my staring, but he didn't seem oblivious to it either. He kept calling me “dear” and using way too many double – or triple – meanings while talking to me, but that was his nature after all. Yet there were the details. A smile that lasted a tiny bit too long or a particularly low voice when calling me “sweet”. Always details...

Some days later he showed up wearing disturbingly elegant and sober attire; dark blue tailored suit along with a white shirt and a grey tie that made his skin practically glow. Ariadne made an approving sound and even Cobb smirked and shook his head in amusement. I just froze. If I had assumed that he was a walking piece of sex and beauty, that was before seeing him with that tailored suit clinging to all the right places and fitting his broad frame perfectly. I tried to keep my eyes on my blueprints, but it was like he was a magnet and I couldn't help but be attracted to him. Easily the longest and most suffocating day of my life: he kept the suit on even with the pleasant weather and seemed determined to remain in my eye sight all day long. If there were any doubts about him noticing my staring, that day gave me the answers I needed. The ones I wanted.

When the day was almost over and both Ariadne and Cobb were about to collapse from exhaustion, he leant against my desk and looked at me, eyes hidden behind reflective lenses.

“You like this, don't you?” It was barely a question, sounded more like an accusation.

“Your suit?” My voice sounded raw. “Yes, liked it a lot; never thought you had such a good taste.”

“Oh, I do, darling...” Not an accusation, almost a threat. “Have my tailor's number.”

He held my hand and wrote on my palm with a pen he picked from my breast pocket. Before letting go he kissed it; this time the light didn't catch on his glasses and I could see his eyes. There was no mistaking the expression or]the glint in his eyes; I shivered as he stepped back pocketing my pen in his own vest. I looked down at my hand several seconds later, when he was already leaving the penthouse. There was no number on the message he wrote in my hand; well, no tailor's phone number anyway; he had written “22:30, my hotel XXX”. I wasn't sure if the crosses were kisses or a promise of something else. Damn double meanings! Before I could really rationalize this I was looking at my watch and calculating how long it would take to go to my own hotel before meeting him.

At 22:30, precisely, I knocked at his door.

“Open!” He shouted and for the moment I held the doorknob I knew this wasn't a reasonable thing to do. But he had already changed so many things in me that I couldn't bring myself to care.

I opened the door and he was sitting in an armchair near the window, his suit opened but still on and a perspiring glass of whiskey in his hand. He lifted it, as if offering a toast, and drank it down in one gulp, his throat convulsing around the burning liquid. Details. I shivered and closed the door almost absentmindedly, my eyes glued to his. Those damned glasses were shielding his eyes again but there was no mistaking what I'd seen previously. He licked his lips like a tiger would and removed the glasses.

“Keep them,” I said before I could restrain myself.

He chuckled and pushed them back on. He laid the glass on the nearby table and sat in a more comfortable position, looking extremely relaxed and powerful. He owned the situation and was well aware of it. He patted his thigh with a wicked smile on his face and I would like to say that I did something other than run across the room and climb onto his lap.

He tasted like expensive liquor and salty pumpkin seeds. The scruff growing in his chin burned my skin but I loved that, somehow it proved it was real, proved that it was Eames beneath that expensive suit. We kissed like drowning men and when he pushed me away his lips were plump and red and even more kissable. I kissed him again and he responded with passion, lips and teeth and tongue expertly drawing moans out of my throat. He grasped my biceps in a vicelike grip and stood up, pulling me with him, forcing me to stand at full height to keep kissing him. He moved us towards the bed and when I felt the mattress bumping the back of my knees, he pushed me onto it with no ceremony.

I didn't wanted him to be ceremonious, I wanted him to take me and grab the last pieces of my former self and throw them away. He seemed to comprehend that unspoken wish, because he started to tear at my jacket, ripping the buttons off and shoving it down my arms. He did the same to the rest of my clothing and soon I was completely naked before him. Suddenly I was totally self conscious. I had a momentary knowledge of each flaw and each imperfection on my body; scars, freckles, everything. I moved my arms over my chest trying to hide my nakedness, but he grinned devilishly and pinned my arms over my head.

He shook his head disapprovingly and leant over to kiss me again. “You're perfect” he murmured against my abused lips before drifting lower and covering my neck and collar bones with tiny kisses and bites that were just the right side of painful. His glasses were a cold point sliding across my feverish skin – a detail - and I adored them even more. He licked my navel and explored my ribcage with dextrous fingers and I was moaning helplessly as he neared my cock. I was painfully hard, already leaking pre-come. I felt his warm breath on my skin before all the world narrowed to the scorching heat of his mouth around me. I wanted to yell and thrash and probably die, but he held my hips down forcefully and slipped a finger into my mouth to muffle my groans. He sucked me expertly, using the right amount of pressure and teeth, his tongue dancing around my shaft like I was a very rare and delicious appetizer. Arthur flavored appetizer.

However, his mouth left me soon and was replaced by the hand that was holding my hips. I was about to complain when I realized he was still down there, his breath causing me to shiver and moan around his finger. He licked my thigh gently as he moved my legs apart. He kept licking, kept going down until I felt the tip of his tongue probing my entrance. I could think of few filthier things, and even less things that I wanted more than having his tongue up my ass. I could feel his smile as he heard my moans, he pushed his tongue a bit. Testing, trying. It was a long time before he really started to fuck me with his wicked tongue. It felt odd and terribly wrong but so good I couldn't care less. I could feel my muscles slowly giving up, getting loser and relaxed until his tongue was shifting inside me easily.

He kissed my twitching hole before getting up to his knees in order to open his fly and pull his cock out of his trousers. My mouth went dry when I saw his erection, blunt and red, its head shining with pearlescent pre come. He was big and thick and it made all the sense in the word. He removed the finger that was still inside my mouth and used the saliva there to slick himself a bit. Merely psychological, a mere detail. He held my legs up to his shoulders, my pale skin almost shining against his dark blue suit. He kissed me again and he tasted saltier and musky.

I felt a slow burn overtaking me as he entered me; the slick and lose muscles giving in relatively painlessly. When he was almost completely in, he brushed a particularly sensitive spot inside me and I groaned pathetically. He grinned and move out and in again, searching for that spot and after a few times he found the angle that made it easy to brush said spot easily. He kept with that rhythm, in and out with a precision that was more reminiscent of me than him. I surrendered, pressing my legs up to my chest, bringing him closer so I could kiss him. We kissed sloppily and messily and little by little he started to lose control of his pace. His hand wrapped around my cock and started to pump, out of sync with the thrusts. This double stimuli quickly turned my brain into a incoherent amount of nerves drenched in endorphins, I thrashed and moaned and lasted few minutes before coming. Long ropes of white liquid landed on my chest and bent legs and luckily not even a drop caught his perfect suit.

I felt my muscles clenching while I was orgasming and surely that was enough for him as well; after a few more thrusts he came too, burying a yell into my shoulder and biting the soft skin there as he trembled through his own orgasm. He rolled us over before collapsing, his strong arms around me and my head resting on his heaving chest. His hands were tracing lazy patterns over my shoulder blades like he was adorning a piece of art. Detailing it.

He kissed the top of my head and pulled out, an audible pop filled the silent room and I felt some come trickling down my thigh. I was all over him, like a pup or a stuffed animal; limp and spent and utterly satisfied for all that mattered. He pulled the comforter over us and sighed contently. His suit would be completely rumpled by the morning but he didn't seemed to care. Neither did I; after all these are just details... **  
**


End file.
